


Love is not Love (Without the Sea)

by starbucksjunky



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, girl!Liam - Freeform, merman!zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbucksjunky/pseuds/starbucksjunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Today was supposed to be a get-away from the congested loneliness of the city. I was looking for a silence as unbreakable as a pinky-promise and an honesty so real it can’t exist within New York City. I wanted to breathe the sea air and feel the harsh wind against my cheeks. I wanted to focus on the movement of my Dad's old fishing boat as it cut through the current and feel the freedom that evades me more now than it ever has before. I wanted to catch it.</p><p>The only thing I caught was a mermaid."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is not Love (Without the Sea)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've edited this quite a bit from it's original draft. Hope it's better now. Enjoy!

Today was supposed to be a get-away from the congested loneliness of the city. I was looking for a silence as unbreakable as a pinky-promise and an honesty so real it can’t exist within New York City. I wanted to breathe the sea air and feel the harsh wind against my cheeks. I wanted to focus on the movement of my Dad's old fishing boat as it cut through the current and feel the freedom that evades me more now than it ever has before. I wanted to catch it.

The only thing I caught was a mermaid.

The sun licks lewdly at the sharp edges of an old fishing trap floating on the surface of the water. The waves ripple beneath the trap and tip the copper-stained, bloody metal towards the horizon. I grip the splintered wheel tightly and turn, but the sudden movement throws me off balance. I stumble and jerk the wheel back, but the metal mesh still scrapes against the side of the boat. I cut the engine and look up beneath my fringe. Something black and gold catches my eye. I walk to the edge of the deck and grimace at the sight of a young merman tangled in the mesh. His body hangs bloody and limp beneath the surface. The sun barely bleeds through enough to catch his glittery scales.

They're nothing short of breathtaking.

I drop to my knees and reach over the wooden siding for the wire mesh that ensnares him. I grab a handful and tug it to test its strength. The merman jerks and flounders to the surface. His eyes widen in fear when he sees me. "You're alive," I gasp. "Oh shit, you're not dead. Oh God--" I start to pull the net towards the boat, and he desperately thrashes away--slapping the surface of the water with his tail fins. He’s close enough to splash me, and the salt water burns my tender wind-shocked cheeks and blinds me. “Quit that! You’re going to—” the net digs into the scales closest to his torso, and fresh blood gushes from the wounds. “Shit.” I drop the mesh and clamber over to my paddles and wade the boat closer to him. I lead the trap on board as I go—doing my best not to tug too hard. “You speak English, right? Is that a thing? Nod if you understand me.”

The merman struggles harder.

“Okay, listen, that is clearly getting you nowhere, just—if you speak English then grab the paddle.”

“Get away from me,” he spits and knocks the paddle away with his tail.

“No,” I spit back. “You need help.”

“I don’t want your damn help. Piss off!”

The sharp threat of a migraine pushes at my temples and I clench my fingers around the handle of my paddle. I want to go sailing--not argue with a merman. But the fate that awaits this beautiful creature is too horrific for me to turn away. So, I ignore his protests and throw the paddle aside.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks when I start to pull my clothes off.

I dump everything on deck and gently dip my toes in the water, but I pull away fast—burned by the cold.

“You aren’t seriously thinking about jumping in, are you?”

“I can’t get the boat any closer without entangling the mesh further, and you aren’t being cooperative.”

He gapes.

“You’ll get caught too!”

“Yeah, well, that can be on your conscious.”

I throw both legs over the side of the boat.

“Don’t,” he snaps, just as I’m beginning to lower myself into the ocean.

I pause and glance up to meet his gaze.

“Hand me the damn paddle.”

I pull myself out of the water and immediately bundle all my clothes back on—shivering. He watches me and waits until I offer him the paddle. This time, he grabs at it with one hand. It’s slashed worse than his tail. I pull him in and haul the netting aboard as it pools at the side of the boat.

“I’m going to cut you free from this first.” I gesture at the pile of mesh beside me.

“Then what?” he challenges.

“We’ll figure it out. Just hold on while I find the knife kit, I swear I left it somewhere around—” I crawl over to a shallow storage bench to my left. I dig through the pile of old fishing gear while the waves rock the boat beneath me. “Got it.” I place the box beside me and crouch over the trap to look for a weak patch in the chain link.

“Are you a hunter?” The merman hooks an arm over the side of the boat and pulls his torso above the water to watch.

“What makes you think that?” I ask, picking at a knot.

“All of the gear.” I follow his gaze to where my Dad’s old fishing poles and nets are stored on the opposite end of the deck.

“No, that’s—” I pause to untangle the fishing lines wrapped around the knife kit. “Kind of personal, actually.”

“Oh,” he frowns when I start to hack the net into smaller pieces. He chews on his lip silently, but pulls himself higher when I slip up with the knife and slice into the flesh of my thumb. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Doesn’t that?” I nod at the sliver of black and gold bloody scales that peak above the water.

The merman slumps back down to submerge his tail and remains silent until I cut through the last link in the chain. I drop the knife and wipe the blood on my thigh. I gather up the severed mesh and move it out of the way. Then, I kneel in front of the merman and offer him my hand.

“What?”

“It’ll be easier to untangle the rest with you up here.”

“But I need water to survive.”

“Right, I’ll—” I grab a bucket I set aside earlier to wash down the deck and hold it out for him to see. “Rinse you every minute or so. Is that good?”

He shrinks back and eyes me curiously.

“And when you’re done, then what?”

“You won’t be able to swim like this, right?” I bite my lip and meet his intense honey-brown eyes. “I can fill the fish holes with seawater, and you can stay here until you’re better.”

“The fish holes?” he spits.

“I could dump you back into the ocean to bleed to death if you would prefer.” I snap. He doesn’t back off or apologize, but he does, reluctantly, take my hand.

I tug and guide him sideways so I can swoop down to encircle the base of his long tail with the crook of my elbow. He wraps his free arm around my shoulders when I grip his hip and struggle to stand up with his added weight. I only manage to lift him high enough to miss the edge of the boat when I fall backwards—too weak to support us both. I brace the merman against my chest and blink against the spots in my vision when my head collides with the deck. My ribs heave and my lungs ache when I cough.

“My hero,” he says, dry and sarcastic, but he blinks up at me in awe. "Are you alright?”

“Great, thanks. I didn’t really want my lungs anyway.” I groan, gently rolling him to the side so I can breathe properly.

He laughs—open and genuine.

“Didn’t think you’d manage,” he admits. “You must be stronger than you look.”

“And you must be fatter than you look.”

“’m not fat.” He turns his head to glare at me.

“My rib cage disagrees,” I wheeze.

“You'll live.”

“You don’t know that.”

He looks different out of the water—his body much longer and bloodier. His arms are thick with muscle and sliced thin from the fishermen’s trap. The distrust is still evident in his eyes, but he looks at me like I own a part of him. The sun reflects off of his bare chest and scales--which are certainly more beautiful on him than they would be on a designer handbag. I pick up the knife I used earlier and the merman immediately stiffens; he looks like he wants to thrash around or jump back into the ocean, but he holds still and tilts his chin up—as if to provoke me. I dump a few buckets of water on him first, mostly to clear away the worst of the blood, but also because he needs the sea to live.

I gently loosen the mesh around the top of his tail. His scales are soft, smooth and warm--not slimy like I expect them to be. I relish the feel of them against my knuckles while I work.

I keep my eyes focused on the mesh and work slowly to ensure it doesn’t tangle further. It takes me close to an hour to free half of his tail before I can cut the mesh away, which leaves just the base of his tail still trapped. I pick around his devastatingly delicate-looking fins and loosen the netting. I make a bloody, shredded mess of my own fingers in the process.

The merman sits up and watches me cautiously, and he shudders every time I wash his scales down with the cold seawater. It washes away the steady flow of blood and keeps him moist beneath the hot eye of the sun, but stains the deck crimson all around us.

“Your hands are just as bad as mine now,” he says when I cut away another chunk of mesh.

“I’m okay.” I throw the metal aside. “Almost done now.”

“You can leave the last bit. It’s loose enough that I can—”

“No.”

“No? Are you crazy? Look at your—just leave it. I can do it myself.”

“Stop,” I snap, batting his hands away when he tries to take over. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, and—let me.”

“You’re losing a lot too—”

“I’m okay,” I reiterate, and recklessly pull at the mesh. It sinks into my palms, but I don’t feel it; his scales soothe the sting and the cold. “There,” I strip the last piece off and sit back to admire my work. “Can you move it at all?”

He flips his tail fins, but only enough to brush against my thigh.

“Yeah, thanks.” He blushes.

“You’re welcome.” I crack a tiny smile.

“Humans normally hate my kind,” he tells me seriously. 

“Well, you are pretty rude.”

His fins twitch and he huffs—indignant. I laugh and slick my damp hair back over my forehead.

“But you rescued me anyway.”

“It would be a shame, you know?" I say with a shrug. "There are plenty of empty spaces in the world, and the ocean shouldn’t be one of them. Besides,” I tuck my chin into my clavicle to hide my blush and gently trace my fingertips over the scales closest to me. “Who could hate a more beautiful version of themselves?”

His eyes widen comically at that, but before he can say anything, I stand up and gather some more water. I wash him over again before I turn to face the stern.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to fill up the fish holes.”

“You were being serious before?”

“Yeah, I mean, it may not be glamorous but you can’t swim and I can’t just leave you to bleed to death in all that.” I gesture wildly at the ocean.

He watches me flail around, bucket in hand, until I stop to gather more water.

“Who are you?”

“Liam,” I reply, struggling towards the cabin door with the heavy bucket. “Be right back.”

I duck inside and prepare the fish holes for the merman. When I have them half-filled, I grab the first aid kit, an extra pillow and an old sweater my Dad used to wear when it was windy and set them aside. I bring the sweater along with a towel to the deck and I dump a bucket of water on him.

“I don’t know if mermaids find clothes uncomfortable or not, but it’s pretty cold and I thought it doesn’t hurt to ask so…” I hand him the towel and sweater and he holds both items out in front of him. He clenches the different fabric between his fists, and decidedly sets the towel aside so he can examine the sweater in fascination.

“How is it that these things work?" He pulls one of the sleeves backwards over his arm and frowns. “What the—” he flops his arm around while the rest of the garment hangs off his hand.

“You—” I laugh and pull it off, flipping it over the right way and holding it open for him to slip into. “Like this, yeah?”

His eyes get big before he ducks inside the sweater and fumbles about. He tries to shove his head through the sleeve and fights me when I attempt to guide him the right way. I end up rolling over and laughing when he manages to get his head out the right hole, because the sweater is twisted backwards. 

“Liam? Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” I giggle and brush my fingers over his outstretched forearm. “You have it on back to front.”

“What does that mean?” He pulls the hood down and peaks at me over the material. I beam when I see the state of his hair—dried from the wind and mussed from his fight with the garment. “Are you laughing at me?” I shake my head but have to bite down on my lip when he raises an eyebrow and asks, dead serious, “Is it my hair?”

I burst out into a fresh wave of laughter. The merman joins in after a while.

“I need to ask you a small favor.” I stifle more giggles when he turns to look at me—lying gracefully on the stinky old deck like he belongs there.

“What’s that?”

“I have to get you inside, and I can’t carry you.”

“I won’t crawl,” he snaps.

“I don’t expect you to, but.” I lay the towel out and gesture for him to get on it. “’m going to have to drag you.”

Predictably, he is extremely uncooperative, but with extensive coaxing, bribing and begging, I manage to get him in the cabin. He slips into the compartment and is only able to submerge himself hips-deep before he runs out of space. He pokes the pillow that I place between his back and the wood paneling of the ship for comfort, and he doesn’t complain once.

“This is incredible,” he says, looking up at me. His eyes sparkle with flecks of gold beneath the decrepit, dull lighting. The cabin is damp, but warm and sheltered from the wind. It’s mostly awful, but it’s mine.

“I suppose it’s alright.” I brush his fringe off of his forehead absentmindedly. “But not like—not compared to this.”

“Compared to what?”

“All of you.”

“You didn't ask for my name,” he tells me, blushing prettily before tucking his chin into the palm of my hand. “Earlier. When I asked for yours. You didn't ask for mine. That was pretty rude.”

“You’re right,” I say, sweeping my thumb against the fringe of his eyelashes. “What’s your name?”

“Zayn,” he replies easily, breathing against my palm. It stings without the soft brush of his scales to soothe the wounds. I nod dumbly in response, because it figures that such a beautiful creature would have a beautiful name too. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Liam.” Zayn places his hand over mine and peppers my palm with feather-light kisses. His eyes are dark when they meet my gaze. “Thank you for saving me.”

I admire his flushed cheeks when he pulls my hand away from his mouth, and the tug of a pearly white smile beneath the split of his lips and the sharp angles of his cheek bones. I think of freedom as I take him in, and how my trip of isolation and desolate purpose was turned upside down and then backwards all at once. I think of how these waters used to hold so much wonder for me, and how I felt so accomplished and so much lighter after sailing with my Dad. Until today, I forgot what that was like.

“You too.” I say, a smile pulling at my lips and my lungs itching for a cigarette when I think of how my Dad used to look wearing his favorite sweater compared to how Zayn looks wearing it now. “Thanks for saving me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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